


Breath of Life

by cornelia_h



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Kissing, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25462588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornelia_h/pseuds/cornelia_h
Summary: Every night, Superman visited a statue alone.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 118





	Breath of Life

Tips of red boots touching stone tiles, Superman landed with barely a sound. It was past midnight here in this small town, eighty-two miles to the west of Prague. No one saw him—the locals tended to retire early in the evening. The plaza was dark, with only a single lamp casting a lone gleaming trail of orange light on the worn stone surface. It didn't bother Superman, for he didn't need the light to see and he knew his way around here too well.

Seventy-five years, six months, and three days. The time since Batman famously sacrificed himself in the greatest battle for Earth’s survival. He had since received the remembrance he rightfully deserved, for almost every town in every country had erected a statue in his honor, however large or small. They came in marble, bronze, stainless steel, wood, clay, or any other material that reverent artists could lay their hands on, to pay their last tribute to the hero who gave his life for the world he had once vowed to protect.

For years, Superman flew around the world, scanning every corner to look for the Batman of his memory and failing. Some sculptures were too stylized, while others incorporated too many local and contemporary elements. Even those artists who aspired to faithfully replicate Batman also had their hands tied, given how few photos were publicly available.

But Superman knew the real reason these statues felt so glaringly off to him. None of those artists ever knew about the person under the cowl. Even after Batman’s death, the world never considered the possibility that the hero was in fact Bruce Wayne, nor did the true identity seem to matter anymore. Batman’s statues remained the abstract symbol that the man himself had created, characterized by the cowl, the cape, and the idea they represented, instead of the face hidden behind.

Decades had passed before the statue now in front of Superman finally appeared. There was hardly anything creative about its making: a life-size bronze sculpture of the Batman, standing upright on a solid stone base with one leg slightly curved to evoke the classical contrapposto. There had been countless others similar to this one, both in public spaces and at souvenir shops in more portable sizes. But there was something unique about this one, a sheer coincidence born out of simple probability and a large sample. The curve of Batman’s mouth was carved at a particular angle to mirror Bruce’s near-smile, and a scratch during the production process was close to where the faint scar should have been above his upper lip. Suddenly, this statue no longer looked like the other empty shells to Superman’s eyes.

Elevating himself to meet the statue at eye-level, Superman leaned forward. He put his lips to the statue’s and closed his eyes. The cool alloy gradually warmed under his touch to human temperature. Slight moisture began to build up between those metal lips. Warm breaths of air, huffed from Superman’s nose, hit the cheeks of the statue and returned to him softly as if breathed from the other person. Superman remained still, cherishing the closest surrogate to the real experience, other than his own painfully intangible eidetic memory.

Time seemed to have stretched on forever before Superman finally opened his eyes. He ran his thumb slowly across the statue’s lower lip, warm and glistening like his lover’s once was. But the bronze soon cooled off in the chilly night, shattering once again the already short-lived reverie into a thousand bloody pieces. Superman left a final peck on the lips, the way he would when he and Bruce exchanged goodnights and the way he couldn’t when Batman’s body evaporated in a blinding explosion of pure energy.

“I’ll be seeing you, my love,” whispered Superman, before taking off into the sky. He would return tomorrow.


End file.
